


affinity for the dark

by anticanonhearts



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Angst, Antonio Carriedo - Freeform, Antonio Fernández Carriedo - Freeform, Antonio works for the Vargas family as a landscaper, Childhood Trauma, Feliciano Vargas - Freeform, Grandpa Rome - Freeform, Hurt and comfort, Lots of Angst, Lovino Vargas - Freeform, Ludwig Beilschmidt - Freeform, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Multi, Suicidal Ideation, actually probably, because this is me projecting, hetalia AU, might do like rural 60s if ya feel, not sure if its modern au, not sure yet where this is going but, spamano - Freeform, spamano au, that is undoubtedly going to be brought up in some form or another, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:42:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27971015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticanonhearts/pseuds/anticanonhearts
Summary: "The feeling of being in the mountainsIs a dream of self-negationTo see the world without usHow it churns and blossomsWithout anyone looking on"It has always made sense to me, running away into a wood, tuning in to the trees; to lay down, pretend I was dead. To sink into the grass, breathing, feeling myself whither into the scope of the universe. I always feel like I could die right there, happy, and alone. I tell myself, it is the most I could hope for.//Lovino spends his days hiding in his room, watching the landscaper boy disappear into the woods out back, and watching him return every evening. With a harrowingly destructive household, and a growing resentment for the yardboy's affection towards his brother, Lovino masks his longing into his writing, for what he hopes will be a manifesto to the end of his life.
Relationships: Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17





	1. deer in the wood

Ch1: deer in the wood

"The feeling of being in the mountains  
Is a dream of self-negation  
To see the world without us  
How it churns and blossoms  
Without anyone looking on"

It has always made sense to me, running away into a wood, tuning in to the trees; to lay down, pretend I was dead. To sink into the grass, breathing, feeling myself whither into the scope of the universe. I always feel like I could die right there, happy, and alone. I tell myself, it is the most I could hope for.  
The wood behind our backyard has a habit of calling my name. I have not yet been seduced by death, my own personal vendetta. Still, I watch that wood as I write every evening, the shadows fanning out, rustling the twigs with dusk. I love winter in the woods especially, partly because I like the way trees look over snow, but mostly because it is the season my brother hates the most, and he scarcely finds hate for anything. The darkest season has become my solitude. 

Feli coddles his boyfriend in the room next to mine. I could walk in this minute and bet that Feli would be wearing Ludwig’s buttoned blouses -anything to get Nonno’s scent off of him, and they would be sitting on the floor, counting the adhesive glow-in-the-dark stars plastered on his ceiling, dreaming of escaping to Florence and living without the burdens of the Vargas-Beilschmidt dynasties.  
Ludwig is a treat, that bastard looks like a predator next to Feli, they deserve each other. Sweet Ludwig and Innocent Feli, lovebirds ensnaired in the ropes of their tyrannical families- deplorable sinners who know not of love and speak harsh and foul. I’m too bitter for Feli’s highness. And Ludwig… though my quarrels with him are shorter in origin, I’ve my reasons to condemn the brute.  
They’re alike in their disdain for those who don’t waste their time on politeness and rhetoric. They believe themselves holy. I despise it. 

So here I am, one room over, a beast in his cell, with no glowing stars on my ceiling, and no buttoned blouses to cloak the Vargas stains that leave me tarnished and soiled. It’s okay though, because I have something better than Feli: the view of the wood from my window, and an affinity for the dark. 

I think for a moment that I see a deer emerging from the trees, but the boy revealed by what’s left of the sun proves otherwise. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.  
Nonno hired him as our “landscaper”, though I couldn’t tell you the shit that he actually does. Some days he’ll labor around and pull out some weeds, other days he’ll disappear into the wood and come back looking oddly smug, other days he just hangs around until after dinner.  
Too many nights have been spent watching him give Feli longing glances across the dinner table, probably fantasizing of whisking him away into an affair, or into those woods, or wherever. He blushes deeply when Feli brushes past him, treating every word of his like it's something profound. To me, he is gracious if he grants an empty stare. It’s like he goes out of his way to show his indifference to me, in contrast to his flamboyant affliction for my brother. He is another reminder that I am the less tempered, less beautiful, less approachable, less agreeable, less desirable version of my brother. He is another reminder that all I am good for is wasting his oxygen. He is the breathing reminder that I, foul Lovino, will never have a place in this world. I could find contentment in my lack of worth if I wasn’t so consistently tormented with that fact. 

Feli and Ludwig are succubi by their own right, but I hate Antonio the most. 

.

As he enters through the backdoor, I hear Feli scramble to get himself and Ludwig downstairs to greet the muddy-toed fiend. Feli patters down the creaked wooden stairway, and, as I imagine, throws himself into Antonio’s arms like a depraved housewife in wartime, Ludwig standing behind, masking his uncomfort with Feli’s unwarranted affection.  
“Toni! I made gnocchi tonight, all on my own! Well, with the help of Luddy, he mostly did all of it, but I told him what to do! Sit down, try it, please?”  
The dreaded Spaniard huffs out one of his gentle laughs, pulling a chair out from the dining table in compliance.  
“I’m not one to turn you down, Feli.” With my ears tuned in to the floorboards, without seeing it, I just knew Antonio was flashing him one of those charming, shit-eating grins. It was ingenuine, it was sinister, but of course, Feli humoured him all the same, and of course, Ludwig sat in a supportive and silent jealousy. 

I think of the time Nonno had me make him caprese, an act of hospitality as he labored our garden weeds in a scorching July afternoon. This was before I vowed against speaking to him, when I still had hope of becoming friends, of having any friend without Feliciano’s grip threatening to suffocate them from me. It’s possessive, it feels like he’s sucking me dry, consuming me stillborn.  
Feli was sitting next to Toni, his feeble, fairy-like arms unable to pull the weeds with the same gusto as Toni. Regretfully, I approached them, caprese in hand, a peace treaty. Toni saw me and his eyes glazed over, joyless. Feli looked up with a devilish glare, confused as to why Horrible Lovino would want to ruin his afternoon with Friend Toni. I could feel Nonno’s eyes watching me from the kitchen windows, making sure his pathetic boy was doing as told. I decided I no longer wanted to be perceived.  
I handed over the plate, perhaps muttering the words “For you two”, and Antonio received it gently, without breaking eye contact.  
Nonno leaves the window, resuming to his office.  
Feli takes the plate from Antonio’s loose hold, and promptly swings it across the yard, caprese scattered over the dug lawn. Don’t ask me whether I saw the china break, transfixed on the docile horror lilting in Toni’s eyes as Feli leans in to whisper in his ear,  
“He poisoned it”.  
…  
Below, Antonio predictably gushes over Feli’s gnocchi, pulling compliments out of thin air, doing all that he can to show his gratitude, and all that he can to win more of Feli’s addictive flustering. I would almost feel bad for Ludwig’s complacency if I didn’t hate him all the same. They could very well live their lives pretending as though they were the throuple of Giant (1956), if it weren’t for the demon boy who lived upstairs, single handedly tarnishing their cinematic daydreams with his loathsome presence and black-hearted cynicism. Often, I burden them without even having to leave the room. I like to joke that I must have ancestry in the dark arts, or that I must have accidentally dawdled in voodoo, unknowingly casting curses at the flick of my wrist, for that’s all it seems to take to summon my family’s resentment.  
I used to believe in “self-evaluation” and “self-betterment”, but those things have so far proven only to lead to softness, and I cannot afford softness, I am not that lucky. I don’t blame my problems on Feli or Nonno, I know that I am foul, and I know that I am vain. I hate Antonio and I hate Ludwig no less than I hate myself.  
I know that I am detestable. Their heaven-fated ends won’t change- but for me, there is no salvation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beginning lyrics were from the song "Emptiness, Pt 2" by Mount Eerie.  
> Hope you enjoyed this first chapter, let me know what you think!  
> I can't tell if it's too short or too dry or both, but any thoughts are appreciated.


	2. tweed coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovino and Antonio are asked to go to the market

I woke up strangled by my beaded rosary. Alike to many other mornings, when I don’t care to remove it the night prior. I tell myself that I ought to get used to the feeling, comedically. Starting each day “reminded” of my lack of divinity and sour nature is intentional, it helps me to avoid living as if I was pure, and helps me to avoid feigning an innocent conscience, as my brother does. It reminds me, more importantly, that I live as the antithesis of my brother, the other side of the moon, where the sun will never reach. I’ve accepted this.  
Feli has left for school by now, an art school, loaded with merit scholarships and promises of abroad studies. I stay home, on account of my vow to Grandfather Roma that I will follow his footsteps in priesthood... and on account of being expelled from public school. Nevermind all that, though.  
Nonno is in his office, presumably. I can see Antonio from my window, already labouring around the yard. He’s wearing a light coat this morning; it’s been slowly cooling outside, edging towards the darker months. Thank god.  
I quick buttoned on a shirt, tucking the rosary beneath, to feel the beads on my skin rather than outwardly present it. It seemed a good morning to spend downstairs, to leave my room for a moment, into a larger oak space. No one would really be there, anyways. I slipped through the door and walked quietly down the steps, finding myself near the kitchen entryway, where I could watch Antonio through the windows. I didn’t feel the need to eat, or to occupy myself in any way, so I sat myself at the dining room table, cheek resting in hand.  
He isn’t labouring as much as I thought, sitting beside the bushes, fiddling with the lower twigs, plucking a bronze leaf or two. I never understood why he would get right to work this early anyways, it wasn’t as if there was much to do except wait for Feli to return in the evening. Maybe he got up to send Feli off in the morning… but still, he doesn’t need to scavenge out there all day long.  
The door to Nonno’s office opens, and out steps the grand Vargas. He walks out as if intending to greet me, already knowing where I sat, already knowing when I got there. He looks calm.  
“You’re up early, Lovino.”  
I hate hearing my name out loud.  
“I must’ve been woken up once Feli left. Thought I’d spend a minute out of my room.” It was half a joke, but I spoke sincerely. Nonno nodded, and then looked to the doors, where Antonio could be seen. “He’s up early, too.” I made sure not to say his name. I hate the way it sounds off my tongue. Nonno nodded again, amused. If I didn’t know any better, he could’ve been mistaken for feeble, aging. It was just a good morning, I supposed.  
“Why don’t you and Antonio head to the market? That way, the both of you can get out for a minute, since you’re up so early”. The request was innocent, but I still felt my heart swallow itself up. I didn’t want Antonio to have to be near me, forced to communicate with me, Lord.  
“Okay, yeah… I’ll fetch him in a minute”.  
Ruling my response as appropriate, he gave a final nod, returning to his office.  
Antonio remained where he was, slowing laying himself down, unbothered, unknowing that he was about to be bothered by none other than the chore of my presence. I take a deep breath, standing up, edging to the door. When I step outside and close the door behind me, he doesn’t budge, doesn’t blink. A step closer and I realize his eyes are closed. Is he asleep?  
With no hurry, his chest rises and falls. The grass below blankets his figure, his slight curls are tangled and earthly.  
It happens like this too often, when Feli is gone, a moment like this, and I find it hard to hate him. I see him there, and he radiates sweetness, and I almost know that if it weren’t for Feli, I could’ve found him a friend.  
But Feli isn’t watching.  
But it doesn’t matter. Feli’s absence only serves in anticipation for the moment he returns. He may be gone now, but that’ll never change the fact that he’ll be back in the evening. Feli’s return is all that matters.  
Antonio holds a reddish leaf between two fingers, still laying silently, not caring to open his eyes.  
He brings the stolen leaf to his lips, and acts as if further stealing a kiss from it.  
Alright, that’s enough of that.  
I make my footsteps more noticeable, in an attempt to politely shake him from what I assumed was a lovely daydream of my beloved brother.  
When I was close enough to cast a shadow over him, he opened his eyes. His lips parted, and he raised his eyebrows slightly, innocently, silently asking why I was there, what I needed from him. It was a look of surprise, though he didn’t seem distraught by my presence. So far, so good.  
“My grandfather wants the two of us to go to the market.” I put an effort into sounding like I had no opinion of the matter. I didn’t want him to sense my anxiety, and accidentally make him uncomfortable, and accidentally make the whole day terrible. He gave a slight, remote smile, which hopefully indicated that I was successful in my approach.  
“We should go to the market, then”. He got himself up, brushed the garden off of his tweed coat, and headed back to the door. I thought he’d be a little more reluctant, but I was proven wrong. I followed behind.  
When he opened the door, he held it open for me. I knew it was just his instinct, but our moment of eye contact was uncomfortable, or it must’ve been, for him.  
“I can open the door just fine”, I spoke stiffly. I hated the bitterness that rang in my voice, but accepted it as necessary. His expression dropped, as if only now remembering that I was not Feliciano.  
“I was only being polite.”  
“Don’t.”  
I quick slipped on my shoes, making sure to beat Antonio to the front. I didn’t bother to grab a jacket, being more resistant to the cold. It was going to get warmer in a minute, anyways. I walked quickly over our yard.  
Antonio matched my pace, forcing a sweet smile in my direction.  
“I’m allowed to be polite.” I didn’t reply, not wanting to humour a painful interaction. He tried again, “What do we need from the market?”  
“What does Roma need.” I corrected.  
“Right, what does Roma need?”  
I refused to turn to look at him, his arm nearly brushing mine. I refused to falter.  
“... I’m not sure, he didn’t say.” I admitted.  
He nodded, exactly as Nonno would.  
Well, the morning sun really did look good on him. Not that I was really looking, but, it wasn’t like I hadn’t seen him like this many times before. I can’t count how many mornings I’ve looked from my window to see him below, but I can remember the feeling of seeing him there for the first time, catching the rays of the dawn like they were being thrown to him, his hands goldly illuminated as he brushed branches aside, as he rolled up his sleeves, God, I...  
“We’ll figure it out, I’m sure.” He spoke, interrupting my pervasive memory. I could almost thank him for it, reminding myself of his affinity for my brother, reminding myself of the reasons why he talks kindly to me, rather than with disgust or spite. It is because of Feliciano. Only Feliciano.  
I still felt a bit uneasy, walking with him now, thinking of Feli. Any secret wants of being Antonio’s friend were silenced by the thought of Feli’s jealousy. I know better. Antonio wouldn’t be the first.  
“It’s a beautiful morning, at least, una mañana tan hermosa.” He didn’t seem to want to walk in silence. “Do you love the fall?”  
“Not really. I like the winter.”  
“How odd, Feli loves the summer! He’s like me, I can’t live without the sun.” He laughed, I didn’t. Hearing him bring up Feliciano made me sick. It always plays out like this. I cannot exist, if not as Feli’s shadow. I hated today already.  
“I like the cold.”  
“You don’t seem like you like the cold.” I couldn’t understand what he meant, and couldn’t understand what part of me seemed to him like a boy who enjoyed sunny weather.  
“My brother doesn’t seem like he likes the cold. I like the cold.” I tried to sound blunt, hoping that pointing out to him that I am not Feliciano would end his doting.  
“Suit yourself.” Antonio shrugged. He smiled carelessly, avoiding my gaze, just as I was. For a moment, and only a moment, I wondered what it might feel like for him to look at me the same way he would Feli. 

A month ago, late in the evening, I saw the two of them in the living room. Ludwig had returned home a half hour earlier, Nonno had gone to bed, I had hidden myself away. I remember peaking around the stairway; Antonio and Feliciano were conversing quietly, and I was curious to know why. I never tuned in to what they spoke, but rather saw Antonio’s arm wrap around Feli, Antonio’s hand turning Feli’s face, Feli’s sigh as Antonio layed a slow kiss to his cheek.  
I slept that night with a horrible aching.  
For a week straight I cried in bed, imagining Antonio’s hand lulling my face, his voice at my ear, what those things might feel like, how much I longed for it. I pinched myself every other hour for my hideous dreaming. I may not believe in God, but God if I felt my soul ought to be punished by one. I know my sin runs deeper than my envy.  
Antonio, have you been sent to remind me of my damnation?

He was wearing the same coat that night as he is today.  
Here we are, walking awkwardly besides each other, and I can’t keep myself together, just because of a fucking coat.  
I almost want to ruin everything, apologize to him for being so cold half the time. But I can’t do it. It would be embarrassing, obviously, but I can’t imagine how things would play out moving forward, with me, with Feli. I didn’t want Antonio to think less of me, I didn’t want him to think any more of me, I didn’t want him to think of me at all, I just want to disappear. I can’t bring myself to be his friend. I can’t imagine the things it would ruin. So I take the offensive instead.

“I am not Feliciano.”  
It was out of nowhere, for him. He took a moment to show his confusion, before steading his gaze on me. He almost looked stern.

“I know that, Lovino.”

I wanted to say, ‘No, you don’t understand, I am nothing like him, I am everything that he isn’t, the sweetness you see in him does not exist within me, stop treating me like you know me, stop pretending I am good’.  
At the same time, I wanted to melt when he said my name. I pinched myself where he couldn’t see, disgusted with my weakness. 

“I know he’s fun and nice and all that, but don’t expect the same from me.” (Don’t pretend you want to talk to me). I felt my heart sink at my own words. My lack of worth in comparison to my brother was riveting, at least the more I thought of it. Anyone could see the same. Anyone could come to the same conclusions, Antonio being no exception, regardless of how much I wanted him to be. What I wanted didn’t matter. I need to stop forgetting that.

“I don’t expect anything of you.” I finally looked at him, I guess we made eye contact, I guess I must’ve given something away, something that incited him to add on: “I don’t mean that in a bad way.”  
I gave him a skeptical glare, “What way could that have been?”  
“I want to know more, Lovino. Don’t act like you don’t avoid me, or everyone.”  
“I don’t avoid you.”  
“You hide in your room all day.”  
“I like it there.”  
“You never come down.”  
“I’m down right now, aren’t I?” 

He gave a defeated sigh. Good. Serves him right. He’ll learn that asking about me leads to trouble. “I still wish you’d be less secretive.”  
I ignored this, shaking my head. My business is mine alone. More than that, my business is humiliating. Antonio is lucky never to know that the majority of my nights are spent thinking of him. He is lucky never to know anything about me at all.

But it didn’t matter. We arrived at our destination, the conversation officially behind us.  
The walk to the market lasted longer than the rest of the day, it felt. Hopefully, I could return to the sanctity of my bedroom, never to descend those stairs again, never to subject Antonio to a conversation with me again, never to speak again, never to be seen again, all of the above.  
Oh, the headache of being conscious. Tonight would be another night of abhorrent fantasies. Tonight would be another night intoxicated by the thought of wrongful affection.

Antonio didn't have a clue.


	3. low hanging light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day Antonio and Lovino met
> 
> !!!!!TW//// self-harm, suicidal ideation, near attempt

One year ago.  
The end of my life was to be near. Every moment I spent in that house, I rotted, and I could feel myself whither into an incurable sickness. I knew that I was edging near a sort of madness, one that soiled the lives of all around, silently, prominently. I couldn’t stand it anymore. My family, myself, the isolation, I couldn't stand it. I was ready to give in. I was ready to let myself succumb to an eternal silence, an eternal darkness. I had it all thought through. It was finally time.  
I breathed a sigh of relief, curling up in a patch of sunlit grass far into the wood. I’d been spending days out here, it felt, preparing myself emotionally for what was about to come. I would miss this place, i know that for certain. I wouldn’t miss, however, returning home every evening, dizzy from the air and the tension, feeling so suddenly all so conscious, all so sick. I wouldn’t miss having to continue living by the terms of my grandfather, I wouldn't miss having to infect the air that my brother breathes, I wouldn't miss it.  
Only the trees. Only the grass. Only the sun as it reflects off the earth.  
But there would be plenty of people left to enjoy such things after I'm gone. None of it will matter after i’m gone.  
And so I lay here, understanding my insignificance, feeling at peace, feeling anxious. It wasn't being dead that scared me, necessarily, but the possibility that I would live, if something went wrong, if it didn't quite kill me. I didn't have a plan for it, I just had to find the trust that it would do the job.  
...  
I was lying in a sunlit patch of grass, shaded only slightly by the noose hung above me, swaying slightly with the late summer breeze. I tried to imagine how I would look, hanging from it. It was morbid, but...it seemed fitting, or at least more so than seeing myself alive in my reflection. This is how I convinced myself that this was the right thing to do.  
But there was another rustling in the wood, and it wasn’t from the breeze. Someone else was coming. I sat up, unmoving, though alert. Through the trees, I could see a man approach. The sun stood behind him, illuminating his silhouette; I had to squint to make out his features as he drew nearer.  
“Hello?” He called out, more curious than cautious.  
“What’re you doing here?” was my decided reply. My family owns this land; these woods are mine.  
“You must be one of the Vargas boys.” He stepped close enough to examine my attire, and then the particular truss of rope hanging adjacent. He looked back to me, trying to read my face for an answer to it. I gave none. “I’m Antonio Carriedo. Your grandfather hired me to work at the estate.” He sounded honest, and seemed kind. He deserved my honesty in return.  
“Well, Antonio, if I were you, I’d run off to find work someplace else.” I gestured to the noose. “Clearly, there is no good ‘work’ here.”  
He gave me a look of doubt, and unwarranted concern. “Is that so?”  
I narrowed my gaze, studying the man before me. I’d never seen him before, he was beautiful. His mouth had delicate lines around the corners, indicating a smile usually rested there. The outline of his skin glowed under the sun, golden rays flecking throughout his hair, reaching around to his jaw. Antonio Carriedo.  
I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn’t give him a reply. He took that as his cue to kneel beside me. I felt like I was being studied, and I couldn’t read his intentions.  
He spoke again, softly, “What are you doing?” Out here, he meant, and with that rope, he meant. He spoke as if he knew me, as if this wasn’t the first time. He had no right to speak that way. I wanted to bury myself in him and let him carry me far away.  
God fucking fuck me fuck Fuck. I felt disgusting thinking that. Am I really that desperate to cling to this world? To feel stung looking into a stranger’s eyes as if he were born from the sun and set off into the forest? Part of me believed this to be true. I was pathetic and I knew it.  
“What’s it look like?” I let the bitterness slip off from my tongue. His gaze didn’t flinch from my words. Guiltily, I tried to avert the situation, “Nothing was going to happen. It was more like… meditation.” He remained unmoved.  
“Meditation, huh?” He got up to study the rope, grazing his fingers over the binding.  
“What’s it to you?” I stood up with him, crossing my arms over my chest in defense. He struggled to find the right words, running a hand through his hair.  
“Forgive me, I was only curious. Not everyday I come across a... scarlet-faced boy with a death wish.” Scarlet-faced? That was new! I always considered myself to be pale, lifeless, like a rotting corpse. What did he mean by that? Scarlet-faced…  
“You shouldn’t even be here. You wouldn’t have come across it if you weren’t here, so...” His light amusement at my words wasn’t enough to wash away his confusion. Still, he moved closer to my face, studying me again for answers he wasn’t gonna find. I tried hard to meet his gaze unwavering, but I found myself lost in the way his hair curled into the sun. I felt all too fond of his eyes on me, like the evening sun shining through bottles of whiskey. I wondered if I could find an excuse to be violent, as a means to grab his shoulders, or maybe just to make him feel my existence. Maybe that was just it. Maybe my excitement came just from the feeling of existing.  
“What is your name?” He interrupted my little epiphany, catching me off guard. Before I could answer- because I would have answered- a third pair of footsteps came trotting along. Feli revealed himself soon enough, peering through the trees, his eyes fixed on Antonio.  
“Ahah, there you are! I saw you enter the woods and I knew it was gonna get dark, so, Nonno sent me to fetch you!”  
Antonio looked to me uneasily, and then back at Feli, who was offering his arm, demanding to escort Antonio back to the house, “I’m Feliciano.”  
Feli did nothing to acknowledge the rope between us, only smiled as Antonio obliged his gesture and followed him out of the wood.  
I trailed behind.  
Feli chatted him up well for the duration of the walk back, the sun truthfully setting behind us. A couple of times Antonio would shoot me an uncertain glance; he wanted to continue our conversation, I could tell.  
But it was too late, cherry wood doors were in front of us, Feli already halfway inside, tugging Antonio’s sleeve with him. Nonno was ready in the dining room, filled with excitement at our indentured guest. He asked Antonio to join us for dinner, Antonio assured that he had nowhere else to be, that he was delighted by the offer. He set Feliciano to dish generous bowls of pasta and bread. I went into the basement to grab a few holiday candelabras, Nonno wasn’t too far behind, showing off the wine cellar to Antonio. Nonno went back upstairs, leaving Antonio to take his pick for the night. I didn’t need all that time to grab what I needed, but for whatever reason, I wanted to be alone with Antonio, or at least be out of sight of Feli. Leaning on the doorway to the wine cellar, I rested my eyes on him, who studied the rows of bottles with the same contemplative expression I’ve seen Nonno study The Bible. Sensing my presence, he peered to the side, a slight and helpless smile at the corner of his mouth.  
“Have you come to tell me the right one to pick?” I couldn’t help an amused smile myself. I crossed swiftly behind to his left, and stopped to tap at a particular row of Merlot. He stepped to close our proximity, I handed a bottle to him, without breaking eye contact, he took it. He looked beautiful even here, under the low hanging light, his tanned face illuminated evenly with warm light and shadow. I wanted to reach out and touch the parts of his face that were dipped in the cellar’s darkness, I wanted to bring him close. Our gaze remained locked.  
“Lovino.”  
He blinked, broken from a trance, “That’s your name?” His lips pulled into a quiet smile, sounding it out, “Lovino.”  
I gave him a look of levity, taking my candelabras and heading for the stairs, deciding it was time to return to the table. He followed shortly after, Merlot in hand.  
.  
.  
.

Feliciano reserved a seat for Antonio next to himself, and flirted with gaiety throughout the course of dinner. I watched Antonio fall to his mercy, giving in to those playful remarks and affectionate gestures. I wondered if my name only lasted a minute in his mind. Feliciano talked up Antonio to Nonno shamelessly, as if he’d known him a long time and well-evaluated his qualities, though mostly referred to his built stature and handsome face. Feliciano made a great friend of Antonio quickly. I wondered why I felt for even a moment that he could be something of my own friend. There was no way he would never meet Feli, there was no way Feli wouldn’t sink his nails into his heart. A small amount of interaction over dinner and it’s already done.  
The bitter part of my heart thought again to the hanging rope waiting for me in the wood, for today seemed only a reminder of the things in life that I cannot claim, not while I live in the presence of my honey-eyed honey-sweet brother. My world was his to inherit. Still, I was flushed with humiliation, I certainly couldn’t end my life /now/, how petty and obnoxious it would seem! Under the table, I dug my nails into my left wrist, slowly, feeling the pain of such stupid humiliating tendencies. I missed my chance at a fitting and timely death, that’s what happened. And now I have to wait even longer, keep doing this same shit even longer, keep enduring even longer.  
I excused myself from the dinner table early, much to my grandfather’s protest, making a point not to make eye contact with Antonio. Feliciano looked deviously inconvenienced, the distress complementary to a damsel, he gave an eye to Antonio that said “See what I mean?” I cleaned my dishes and made haste to my room.  
I sat at my desk, head down on my forearms, taking a moment to breathe a sigh of relief, feeling less alone in my own company. A minute passed and I found myself looking out of the window in front of me, my view of the wood. I looked at the blanket of darkness resting behind the trees, and thought of myself meeting Antonio there. I could’ve been a corpse by this hour, but instead I am here, in my room, looking out, thinking of Antonio. It felt cruel that the world would try to thrash me around, edging me to death and forcing me to life, never giving me a break, never giving me sleep. I knew that my attachment to this world was temporary, a musical tension meant only to emphasize the end. I hated myself for my cowardice, I hated myself for giving up to this game. I hated it all so terribly.  
Whatever. I’m not dead. Get over it, Lovino.  
I laid my journal on my desk, flipping through the pages. Another wave of humiliation sent through me at my latest entry, my suicide note to myself.  
Whatever.  
On a new page, I marked the date, and wrote about the boy I’d met.


	4. morning sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovino sneaks out one morning.

Today I decided to get up earlier and beat Antonio to the yard. I’ve missed spending days there, hours of nothing but breathing and feeling the earth. I couldn’t take being locked in my room just because Antonio the Yardboy is out there like he’s standing guard. And so, I got up before the break of dawn, dressed, readied myself for a day out of this musky room.  
The sun wasn’t even out yet, it was cold, enough for me to wear a jacket without putting up a fight. I took my journal with me, and my pen, tucking them into a small satchel, thinking it’d be a good day to write. I left my room with ease, avoiding the creaks in the staircase, and out the back door.  
I was six steps out of the house, maybe seven, taking in the air and the moon and the sight of the trees up close.  
It didn’t take long, however, for a hushed voice to call out from behind me.  
“Lovino.”  
“...Antonio.”  
“What are you doing?” He stared curiously, silhouette illuminated by the little light reflecting from inside the house ...Goddammit. Plan ruined.  
“How the hell did you hear me?”  
In the dark, he gave a humble smile. “I’m like you. I used to do the same thing.” I rolled my eyes, even knowing that he probably couldn’t see.  
“So what?”  
“So I’m looking out for you. It’s dangerous to be by yourself in the dark.”  
“I’m capable of looking out for myself in my own yard, asshole.”  
“That’s not really what I meant.”

It took me a second.  
He meant the noose. The one left hanging from a year ago. The one that he found me under the first time we’d met.  
Sometimes, when I’m feeling distant from myself, and have a hard time feeling anything at all, and get overwhelmed by apathy, I pull out my older journals and read them. I’ve read many times the entry from when we’d met. I’ve dreamt many times of him repeating my name, sounding it out like when he’d first heard it, enticed, excited.  
Sometimes I’ll skip the part about dinner and Feli, but will go back and reread it out of regret, cursing myself for trying to deny how that night ended. That it ended with Feli’s hand grazing Antonio’s sleeve, interlocking their eyes, and me alone in my room. That it didn’t end with Antonio unbuttoning my shirt, resting the warmth of his hands low around my waist, breathing my name into my neck, ‘Lovino,’ he says, ‘Lovino…’  
Looking now into his eyes, which are somehow so steady and piercing even in the dark, I wanted nothing more than to be pressed against him softly. I hated it. I tried to ignore the sharp pang in my heart. 

“Thanks, but I’m good.”  
“Lovino,”  
“What? You wanna hold hands and frolic through the trees together?” He raised an innocent brow, and shrugged indifferently. “No thanks, Antonio. You can wake up Feli if that’s what you want.”  
He took this offensively, the softness of his expression dropped. Good. It’s about time he took offense and gave up on trying to be my friend. It’s about damn time.  
“I wouldn’t wake him up even if I wanted to,” he approached me now, “and I don’t want to.”  
“Bullshit. I’ve seen him beckon you to his room countless times at this hour.”  
“Lovino, that’s not-”  
“Bullshit.”  
He was close to me now, looking at me sadly, like he’s pitying me for being the way that I am. Like he’s found a bird with a lame wing, he looks at me like he’s sad I have to exist like I do, all sour and accusing. I hated it. Stop standing there. Stop standing so close to me.  
“He gets scared at night.”  
He speaks so calmly to me. Stop that…  
“He has night terrors, Lovino. Sometimes sitting in the room with him helps him sleep better. That’s all that is. I just want to help. He gets scared in the dark.” He was pleading to me. For what, I had no clue, but it came out as a plea. Sincere and pleading Antonio.  
“Yeah.”  
Feliciano’s night terrors weren’t unfamiliar to me. He’s had them since we were little, when Mama was still here, when she started talking to people who weren’t there, when she started zoning out and drooling before she could finish her sentence, when she started sleepwalking, her eyes wide enough to see the dead. Mama. I don’t like to think of her. Feli can’t help it.  
So Antonio helps it. I get it.  
He waited for me to say anything else.  
“In that case, you don’t want to leave him alone. If he jolts awake, calls for you, and you’re not there, what’s he gonna do?”  
He looked puzzled, like he had something specific to say to that. It was the furrowed look of someone holding back, swallowing harsh, secret words. His lips were beautiful, sculpted sweetly, even while tense at the corners, trying not to frown too obviously, trying to preserve his friendly charm. I stared intensely at him, demanding an honest answer. Maybe I was one line closer to digging the truth of Antonio’s friendliness, or maybe I was one line closer to digging myself into a hole. Antonio takes a breath. 

“Who comes for you when you call?”  
“... What?”  
He shrugged, uncertain, “When you’re in the dark, who do you call for?” 

Fuck off. You wouldn’t wanna know. Fuck off. 

“Why?”  
“I’m curious.”  
“Well, it doesn’t matter, fuck off.” I decided that I no longer wanted to deal with this shit right now, especially not right by the back door, so I turned my back to Antonio and started heading to the forest entry. Not unexpectedly, Antonio followed, trailing my step like a sprite.  
I envisioned us 10 minutes later, far enough away from the house, but not so far where the treetops barricaded the light from the moon. Antonio stands close, like he does, so close, but he doesn’t stop this time, he keeps leaning closer. Under the arches of branches, on grass clear enough to avoid spiders and other small things, in a space void enough for the two of us, he rests his forehead on mine, pulls me closer, tugging on my shirt, smoothes his arm around my waist, around my back, fingertips trace the back of my neck, to my jaw, he closes his eyes, and I keep him pulled to me all the same… 

Antonio’s silence broke me from my fantasy. It’s weird for him to stay quiet, to do nothing but soak up my sourness. It was even weirder for him to be following me, silently.  
“Shouldn’t you go back for Feli?”  
“Feli is fine for a night.” The coldness of his response was unexpected, to say the least. I must’ve hit a nerve tonight, somehow, I’m not sure how. “I’m coming with you.”  
“Okay.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was cold out, it was dark, I wanted a day to breathe. With Antonio here, it feels more like I’m being suffocated, trampled by intrusive thoughts and desires. He’s here at my side and I don’t want to take my eyes off him but I have to keep looking ahead. He was too close to my side, I tried to widen the distance, to avoid accidentally brushing his arm, or anything like that. I clutched my satchel tightly to my side.  
Eventually we were far enough, so I stopped walking.  
“This is where we stop, and where I sit and write.”  
“That’s what you have in your bag?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Not drugs?”  
“No?” He shrugged. He was acting weird this morning. Maybe it takes a while for ‘Daytime Antonio’ to kick in. Well, whatever, I wasn’t one to judge a sour mood. I could give him some pointers, actually. I sat up against a larger trunk, pulling out my notebook, pretending to be indifferent to Antonio’s presence.  
“What do you write about?” He sat opposite of me.  
“None of your business.”  
“Do you write about me?” He flashed a playful, tired smile.  
“Every day.” I spoke sarcastically, as if it weren’t true. Hopefully the glare I gave him sold the act. Regardless, he had a look of success. He brought his arms up behind his head and rested on them, giving me an impeccable, sinful view of his triceps. Clicking my pen, I focused on the blank page I opened up to, unable to conjure up any meditative wisdom. A couple times I would flip through previous pages, reading lines and lines and lines I’ve dedicated to Antonio. Then I would look up, and… well, it was weird- my inspiration was sitting right in front of me. Who are you, Antonio? What are you like when you’re alone? What do you dream of?  
… Well, the answer to that one was obvious. He dreams of Feliciano, like everyone does. He’s probably dreaming of him right now, sitting there with his eyes closed, hiding visions of holding Feliciano’s round, delicate face, his siren laugh, his pink fingertips, and thin, blue veins. I examined my own wrists; I wasn’t as pale as Feliciano, didn’t have his porcelain skin, didn’t have his dollish face, the small shadow of his nose like watercolor on fine china. I hated the greenish tint of my veins, the saturation of my skin, the deep, bruise-like reds that seemed to leak around the entirety of my being. I was rotting, and I looked like it.  
I quickly found that I couldn’t write at all with Antonio sitting there. I put my pen against the paper, and began to draw him instead. Surely he wouldn’t notice my pen moving in large strokes if his eyes were closed. He breathed slowly; I cursed the stillness of the paper for being unable to catch the rise and fall of his chest. The sun wasn’t out, yet light was gradually introducing itself to the horizon. In front of me, Antonio was holding on to every bit of light that laid its hands on him. The Antonio on the page, however, still a dark blue. I wasn’t an artist, especially not like Feli, but I failed to believe that a pen could do him justice. I wondered if Feliciano has ever drawn him, or painted, in one of his classes or otherwise. I wondered if Antonio existed as art to Feli, as much as he did to me. From my peripheral vision, Antonio opened his eyes, staring at me steadily. I looked up, and acknowledged him. He spoke.  
“Can I ask you something personal?”  
“If I said no, you’d probably still ask anyway.”  
“So, yes?”  
“Go ahead.”  
He took a moment to gather his words. “What happened to your parents?”  
“Oh.”  
“If you don’t mind me asking… “  
“Yeah, it’s fine, just… unexpected.” I was surprised that he didn’t already know, mostly. You’d think after a year of chatting up with Nonno and Feli, something would’ve slipped out. “Do you… know anything? About them?”  
He nodded, “Some things, mostly about your mother, like she was beautiful, and young.”  
“I don’t remember her like that,” I hummed, taking in his look of curiosity and surprise.  
“How’s that?”  
“She was maybe young, sure, but I don’t remember her that way. She only ever seemed to be aging.” Withering by the hour, her mind fading, her bones thinning. She was a skeleton under all that skin. Antonio nodded, silently asking me to continue. “She had night terrors, like Feli, had them her whole life. Somewhere down the line, I guess, well I don’t know- a whole bunch of shit happened, but she never slept, did all sorts of shit to herself, and went too far too many times. That’s the gist of her.”  
“... And your father?”

He used to pull into the driveway every night at 4am, but not before fucking the symphony flutist. He would barge into my room and throw the desk chair into the window, telling me to get downstairs and make myself useful. He would stomp and scream until my mother sobbing on the living room couch went deaf. My brother was asleep. He would drive with us in the backseat and threaten to take us all out with one steer, everyday on the way home from school. He would gossip with our teachers and tell them tales about dealers sleeping with my mother in our front lawn. He would scream so loud my heart slammed against my ribs. If we spoke back, he’d pull out the camera. If he was home before dinner, knowing what that meant, I’d take Feli down to the basement, and tell him to hide there until I came back for him, leaving him enough games and books and paper and markers to keep him occupied. He never had to see me clean the blood off my skin from the spaghetti fork that had been thrown at my face. He never had to see me clean the blood from the bathroom floor where my mother made her first attempt, before the police came and pried me outside, where I told them about my brother hiding, where they carried him out, had us ride in the back of the police car, dropped us off at a nearby park. Feli made his way to a swingset, made quick acquaintances with some other kids. I stood next to the police officer who was talking to my father, asking him about my mother’s recent mental state, if she was taking medication, if she was seeing a therapist. He responded sadly, regretfully. Oh, the pain of being married to a mentally-ill woman, the pain of her mental well-being tearing this pictureful family apart. They both looked to Feli with deep sympathy, that special kind of sympathy that weaves itself into existence when two men with crazy wives take a big hard look at the breathing consequences of their mistakes. They ignored my uncomfortable lingering. 

“Got fed up, left a long time ago.”  
Antonio didn’t need to know. It was nothing but a gross, burdening, heavy pile of shit. It was easier to leave it behind. It took too much from me to try to explain. I was worn out just thinking of it in flashes.  
“I see.” He stared intently, knowing there was too much in hiding. The sun had reached around the horizon by now, red gold catching in Antonio’s eyes, rays of sun just beginning to reach the outline of his skin. Antonio. I wish I could share it all with him.  
“What about you? Where’s your family?”  
“My parents live in Spain, with my younger brother. We don’t talk. My sister lives in Moab, Utah.”  
“Interesting destination?”  
“We passed through the city on a roadtrip once. After a couple years, I guess, she loved the place enough to go back.”  
I wondered why he wasn’t speaking to the rest of his family, but didn’t want to ask. If it’s something he felt like sharing, well, I’m sure he would share. Spain seems so far away. I wondered what it would be like to be that far away from my family. Part of me was envious, I could never be so free in my wildest dreams.  
“And that’s that?”  
He smiled, “That’s that.”  
I wondered what he was hiding. There we were, the two of us, facing each other, lit by the morning, shadowed by trees, and hiding so much, and we both knew it. Who are you, Antonio? Why are you here?  
I looked down to the sketch in my journal, it seemed so horrid now in the morning sun, unfaithful to Antonio’s form. He was glowing, in front of me, whereas the sketch remained dull and blue, like it was only meant to be seen in the dark, like that was the only way it could be truthful.  
He unbuttoned his overcoat, the air a degree warmer, and brought his arms up once again behind his head to rest. It was too much of a show, he stared at me too deeply before bringing his eyes to a close, saying, ‘Watch me, Lovino. Watch how the sun soaks into me, watch how I bring to life the dead leaves below me. Watch me, Lovino, and love me silently, and never say a word of it- not to me, yourself, anyone. Feel yourself suffocate as you watch me breathe. Feel yourself unravel as you realize how this pain brings you to life.’

I closed my journal, tucking it into my satchel.  
For the remains of the morning, I did nothing but sit there and watch.


End file.
